


The Worm

by okapi



Series: SPLORCH 'verse [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Blow Jobs, Eggs, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oviposition, Roleplay, Tentacles, Tequila, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Established Mystrade. Alien oviposition roleplay. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4623858">SPLORCH!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [SPLORCH!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4623858)

The front door slammed.

“My!”

Mycroft glanced at the clock.

Good drunk? Bad drunk?

“Where are you, my gorgeous beast?!”

Good drunk.

Mycroft listened. Something glass being placed on the floor. A shirt being untucked and, Mycroft’s cock twitched, unbuttoned.

Bare chest. Gregory’s bare chest.

Must not swoon.

Yet.

And there he was!

“Guess what, love? I won! All hail the conquering hero!”

He danced in a circle and at the display of child-like exuberance, Mycroft’s affection overwhelmed his lust.

“What were the categories?”

“Science fiction and serial killers.”

“No!”

“Yes! Look what I won!” He waved a bottle.

“I believe you’ve drank most of your spoils already, Gregory.”

“Come on, My. I’ve had a few, but not the whole bottle. I won the worm! See?”

A small, dark thread swirled in the clear liquid.

“I do see. Congratulations.”

“There’s about two shots left.” He raised the bottle, looked at Mycroft, and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Though I am loathe to dampen the celebratory atmosphere, I must admit that I find the spirits distilled from the agave plant disagreeable.”

“More for me. How about a body shot?”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear—“

“Your body. My shot.”  He grinned and circled the desk, moving closer, dangerously closer.

Between the flash of white smile and the flash of hirsute chest, Mycroft knew that resistance was futile. “I’ve never had the pleasure,” he confessed.

“Difficult to say whose pleasure will be more, but as I’m a gentleman, I’ll endeavour to make it yours.” Gregory’s voice had fallen to the precise timbre that made every part of Mycroft’s body twitch—not just the rapidly-engorging-with-blood one.

“What do you require?” The ‘name it, and it is yours’ went unspoken.

He sat the bottle on the desk. “Salt. Lime. Your skin. And the worm.”

* * *

Mycroft groaned as Gregory swallowed his cock again. He would not last much longer, not with the way Gregory’s lips were spread so beautifully around his shaft, with the way his tongue, hidden from view, was teasing it.

What a sinful mouth his beloved had! What was the phrase? Word, deed, and omission. Licentious words, lascivious deeds, and absolutely nothing lacking. Tight, wet heat. Suction, friction. Teasing, promising, and oh, so delivering of…

…perfection.

In Mycroft’s opinion, however, the scene bore more than one element of sacrilege; this superior specimen of a man, this idol of masculinity, virility, and all things wholly nuzzle-able should not be on the floor between another man’s legs, even Mycroft’s. It should be Mycroft worshiping at _his_ altar, but Gregory had insisted with a wicked gleam in his eyes, a gleam that perennially rendered any protest on Mycroft’s part moot.

Gregory’s humming sent a delicious vibration from the base of Mycroft’s cock to the rest of his body.

Then Gregory’s hand pushed into Mycroft’s trousers, seeking, Mycroft knew, to fondle his sacs in the way that provoked the most unseemly exclamations. Alas, ambition was thwarted by the constraints of Mycroft’s trousers and his and Gregory’s respective positions, but if he removed his trousers entirely, Gregory could have free rein…

A shiver ran through Mycroft. His pleasure was building, building…

No!

Mycroft fought to retain a modicum of control. It would not do to ‘shoot his load’ as Gregory once so colourfully put it, like a school boy. He was a man. And a man of the world.

His eyes went to the desk. He cleared his throat and attempted coherent speech in the form of an inquiry.

“Not that I am complaining, Gregory, far from it, but for just for the sake of curiosity, when do the salt and lime come into the proceedings?”

The answer was a frantic, clumsy bobbing of Gregory’s head as he sucked Mycroft’s cock with heightened vigour.

Mycroft wove his fingers into Gregory’s lustrous silver mane. 

Oh, dear Lord. He was, was…

His grip tightened.

But then there was a horrible moment of nothingness. Of air. Of confusion.

“Time for a shot!”

“Gregory?!”

Oh, this was beyond teasing! This was torture! To be brought to the edge of release, only to be denied! It was unprecedented cruelty!

Then Gregory was in Mycroft’s lap, straddling him, admonishing him.

“Don’t scowl, love. You’ll like it. So it’s like this.” He took Mycroft’s hand and licked his forearm. “And this.” He sprinkled the salt on the wet stripe, then licked again. Then he took a swig from the bottle and shoved the lime wedge, rind first, into Mycroft’s mouth. Then he bit the lime. And hummed.

Mycroft carefully placed the rind on a serviette. “It is not without its charm, Gregory, but…”

“My?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go to the cellar?”

Mycroft frowned and opened his mouth, but before a reply could be uttered, his beloved had dropped to the floor and taken his cock in his mouth, so deeply that Mycroft imagined, and surely it was only imagined, he felt the tip brush the very back of Gregory’s throat.

Mycroft came at once with a guttural cry, never bothering to close his mouth until the waves of pleasure abated.

When speech returned, he said, “I suppose you’re not suggesting we sample the lovely Tokay recently purchased at auction.”

“No, I don’t want to drink fancy wine.”

Mycroft looked at the open bottle on the desk. “Good. Because you have already consumed a substantial amount of alcohol. I would suggest water from this point forward. Dehydration is no trifling matter.”

Gregory growled and got to his feet. He began to pace the room. Then he stopped abruptly and turned, his back to Mycroft, reaching one hand out to brace himself against the wall, running the other through his hair. He sighed.

“Think this old man is too drunk to get it up? Or too drunk to keep it up?!”

If he only knew how far those words were from the truth!

When Gregory turned back towards the desk, Mycroft was screwing the cap on the bottle.

“I think no such thing, Gregory. I am merely suggesting that in your current state you are not able to fully and properly consent to any acts that may…”

“Of course, I’m drunk! How easy do you think it is to ask for it when I’m sober?!”

He stomped across the room and snatched the bottle out of Mycroft’s grasp; the cap clinked onto the desk. Then he downed the remaining liquid in one gulp and exhaled loudly, eyes pinched.

“Shit! That is one nasty worm! We talked about this, Mycroft. We had an entire conversation about this very moment…” He wobbled on his feet.

“Gregory, please, do not agitate yourself…”

Mycroft quickly circled the desk, ready to catch his beloved as he crumpled the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg woke.

He grunted, and two glowing ovals penetrated the darkness.

Oh God!

He tried to move. Couldn’t.

Bound!

The two lights floated in the darkness. And pulsed.

One, two. One, two.

Just a dream. Good dream? Bad dream?

Greg wasn’t sure. He tried to remember.

Something. Anything.

Tequila.

Hell, tequila did all sorts of things to people.

This could be the beginning of a nightmare.

A thin blue laser appeared. Greg jerked his chin to his chest and, fighting the nausea and vertigo that ensued, watched the light draw nearer. It crawled along his naked body, and when it reached his chest, he closed his eyes.

They always had to scan you first, didn’t they?

Just a dream, he reminded himself, and took a deep breath.

A flat electronic voice cut through the silence:

“ **Prime Status:  Confirmed**.”

Greg turned his head toward the voice. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and yelled, “I am not prime! If you knew anything about humans, you’d know that I am past prime in every category that matters!”

“ **Prime Status: Confirmed**. **Foreign body identified.** ”

“What?”

“ **Foreign body removal required for oviposition.** ”

“Listen, unless you’ve teleported me to the mothership, which I’ll admit is possible, _you_ are the foreign body here!”

The laser reappeared, retracing its path. It stopped at Greg’s waist and blinked.

“ **Earth name. Earth name: _Hypopta agavis_.** ”

“What?”

“ **Earth name: gusano rojo.** ”

“What? Something red. Red? Shit! The worm!”

“ **Initiate foreign body removal**.”

“How in the hell are you going to get it out of me?!”

A flash of bright light.

“Argh!”

When the spots in front of his eyes faded, Greg could see the outline of the creature.

Grey. Bulbous head. Thin neck.

Oh, they all looked like that, didn’t they?

E. _nasty-motherfucking_. T.

It raised a hand.

“HOLY FUCK!”

That was not a hand. That was a stump with a medusa-like halo of squirming tentacles.

“Hey, you want the worm out? Fine. I’ll shit it out. I’ll piss it out. I’ll puke it out. Don’t put that thing in me!”

The room went dark, except for the two glowing ovals and a spotlight that followed the wriggling extremity.

Greg forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through pursed lips.

The tentacles began to glisten in the light as they moved closer. They were getting wet. From the inside.

Oh God.

It oozed! Fucking ooze-dripping alien tentacles headed straight for his crotch!

Greg fought his bonds in vain. The straps were soft, but unyielding.

The hand drew closer.

Closer.

“OH!”

Warm. Soft. Gentle.

It was not penetrating him. It was, in fact, caressing him.

The tentacles brushed his cock, and his cock responded.

Stupid cock.

“Um, listen, I don’t know how much you know about…oh, God, um, that’s nice, right there, um, yeah...human physiology and…ah, ah, ah…anatomy, but I’ve probably already digested the worm. So if you’re trying to remove it….oh, fuck!…um, sir, madam, alien-friend, uh…oh, wow…uh, to be frank, I’m not sure where the worm is, but I know where it _isn’t_ , and the worm definitely isn’t coming out with that right there, as nice as it feels…oh, God, that’s good…”

Greg looked down. The tentacles were coated in secretions that issued from tiny pores in grey skin. Curled around his shaft, they pumped with slow, steady strokes.

“…have to say that the stuff you, uh, got there…oh, oh, yeah…um, it’s not bad…not sticky or foul-smelling like in the films…Jesus Christ, yes!…we give you a bad rap when it comes to…uh, ooze…ARGH!”

Another flash of light.

Greg bucked against the straps. The tentacles still held his cock, but something new, something wet and warm and curved, was teasing his rim.

“…oh, you don’t really have to...entirely up to you, of course…”

It probed his arse while the grip around his cock tightened.

“ **Foreign body removal pending**.”

“…not pending for long, Mister Tall, Dark, and Creepy…”

Greg’s body tensed. Then pleasure burst and wash over him. Warm streaks decorated his stomach.

“ **Foreign body removal complete**.”

Greg made to roll on his side. Frustrated by his restraints, a tiny whimper escaped his lips.

“Don’t suppose you want to cuddle?” he whined.

_WHHHRRRLLL!_

Greg was startled out of the afterglow by a loud droning. A thin iridescent tube snaked towards him. The two ovals blinked above it.

He took a deep breath and shouted above the whirring. “Listen, friend, you already got the worm! It’s gone! See?!” He gestured to the splattered come on his stomach. “So you can take your little, uh,” he swallowed, “thing there and hoover somewhere—or someone—else.”

The tiny proboscis tickled as it moved across Greg’s skin. His ejaculate traveled along the tube to a canister mounted on a far wall, barely visible in the low light.

“Hygiene’s good. I’m a fan. But, um, what exactly…?”

“ **Fertilization.** ”

“Fertilization, right, sounds good. Wait, what’s getting fertilized? Me?!”

More light.

Now Greg could see the creature moving, removing something from a glowing spot on the wall.

It was a box of three, small, beige…

“FUCK! EGGS!”

Greg had no doubt where incubation was going to take place. He looked away and blinked into the darkness.

Greg-alien hatchlings!

The thought exploded like a supernova, imploded like a black hole, silenced all other thought for a short eternity.

Then Greg moaned.

“Oh, God.”

He was getting hard.

Impossible.

No, only highly improbable given the average refractory period of a man of his age, health, and general fucked-up-ness. He was sick. Only someone truly sick would get, could get, an erection at the thought of…

He felt something on his cheek. A hand and not the oozing one. It was dry and had more fingers than it should, but they were fingers, not tentacles. The skin was smooth on one gradient and sandpapery on the reverse. Like the skin of a shark.

He remembered it from somewhere…

He tilted his head, leaning into the touch.

The ovals were over him, pulsing.

One, two. One, two.

“It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?”

One, two. One, two.

“I’m okay. Get on with it,” Greg insisted gruffly.

He closed his eyes and when he re-opened them, the creature was by the wall, drawing a sample from the canister into a syringe. It injected Greg’s ejaculate into one of the eggs.

Greg's breathing synchronise with the creature’s slow, deliberate movements. It was calm, precise, careful in everything it did, and watching the process was oddly soothing. As Greg’s fear dissipated, his interest grew. The creature repeated the steps, one by one, on the second egg and by the time it reached for the third, Greg was half-hard. He opened his mouth and let his lust-jumbled thoughts spill out. "You’re going to prepare me, clean me, _ready_ ,” he sucked in a shaky breath, “me to take those. Inside me. You’re going to insert them, push them, deep. Inside me. And, God help me, I want them. So badly. I want to know that something rare and mysterious and otherworldly chose me.”

Then he breathed out, chuckling. “And I just like the way it feels. I want to feel them go in. Fill me. Come out of me. Fuck, you don’t even have to strap me down. I want it, do you understand? I want all of it.”

 “ **You are prime.** ”

“I am not prime, friend. But I am yours, at least until I wake up.”

Greg closed his eyes and sighed. His fear, his shame, every dark feeling that was weighing him down, floated away.

His own laughter echoed around him, and he gave himself over to his captor. 

* * *

Greg did not fight or flail when the bonds were relaxed. He was turned, then cleaned.

The water was warm. It filled him and emptied out of him and disappeared. The creature’s touch was clinical. Swift, efficient. Intimate but impersonal.

Then Greg’s hole was stretched. More tentacles, he supposed. He didn’t see them. He only felt them. They were more rigid than the earlier ones, but coated with the same secretion. There was a set of them, with increasing diameters. The last one brushed his prostate, and he yelped. Then he exhaled long and loud and said in a weary voice,

“I’m open, friend. It’s time.”

* * *

“OH, GOD!”

The eggs were inside him. All three.

Greg turned and pressed the side of his face to the hard surface.

In a moment, they would start dribbling out, but for a moment, for this moment, he was full of them.

Incubating them.

Alien eggs. Inside him. Waiting to hatch. Waiting to splorch and spread their alien-Greg goo everywhere. Maybe they’d form an army of invaders and take over the planet. Why so violent? Despite the job, he was a gentle soul at heart. Maybe they’d be gentle too. Maybe E.T. was Extra Timid and they’d be a race of peaceful philosophers that sucked nectar from flowers.

Through half-lidded eyes, Greg saw the ovals.

One, two. One, two.

“S’all right,” he slurred.

He didn’t realise how hard he was until he was being turned; until the tentacles, the squirming, oozing ones, were around his cock again.

The eggs began to melt. The goo tickled his rim as it exited.

The tentacles pumped anew.

Slowly. Steadily.

One, two. One, two.

“ARGH!”

Greg came.

And tumbled back into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg woke to softness.

Cocoon. Some sort of extra-terrestrial nest.

No, bed. Human bed.

He rolled onto his back and opened one eye.

Morning. Late morning, judging by the flood of light in the room. Mycroft was beside him, in pyjamas and reading glasses, propped against the headboard.

With Homer.

“Thucydides,” said Mycroft, setting the book aside.

Greg laughed, then frowned. His mouth was foul and desiccated.

“Water,” said Mycroft. A glass appeared.

Greg drank greedily, sloppily, spilling onto the bed. “Sorry. I’m making a mess of your sheets,” he said, his voice so rough as to be unrecognisable to his own ears.

“They’re yours, too, Gregory. Ours.”

“I had this dream, My. It was so…”

And in that moment, Greg wanted nothing more than to press his skin against Mycroft’s. He balanced the glass of water on the hefty book and tore his vest over his head. Then he crawled into Mycroft’s lap. “It was so real.” He fumbled with the buttons of Mycroft’s pyjama top for an instant, before Mycroft pushed his hands away and finished the unfastening.

“Oh!” Greg sighed when their chests touched. He closed his mouth. Mycroft shouldn’t have to breathe his foulness.

Mycroft made a shushing noise.

Greg tightened his grip around Mycroft’s shoulders. “I dreamed…”

“It was no dream, Gregory.”

Greg stared.  

“It was,” said Mycroft, pushing something into Greg’s hand, “a scene, one which I very much hope that you found, on the whole, agreeable.”

Memories flashed like single frames of a film, disconnected, out of sequence, scattered to the cutting room floor of Greg’s mind.

Eggs. Tentacles. A grey bulbous head. A pair of glowing oval eyes. The worm.

Greg blinked. “The cellar?”

Mycroft nodded.

Greg looked down at the control in his hand.

“I took the liberty of recording the encounter so that you may view with sober, dispassionate eyes what occurred and offer commentary, commendation or censure.”

“You filmed us?!”

“I would have you know every detail of the acts performed, Gregory. Given your altered state of mind, your memory may not suffice.”

The pub. The bottle. The desk.

“You drugged me?”

“Yes. It was, per our discussion, within acceptable parameters. A minute dose of the most benign hypnotic. Given your level of intoxication, I would risk no more.”

“In the tequila?”

“When your back was turned. Sleight of hand.”

“Magic tricks, eh?” He weighed the control in his palm. “Well, I know we’re meant to together, forever and ever.”

“Gregory?”

“Because I’m far more curious than alarmed. You’re amazing, My. Let’s see.” He clicked buttons and eased off of Mycroft lap, settling beside him on the bed as the doors of a console parted. A large screen rolled forward.

* * *

“It bears repeating: you’re amazing, Mycroft Holmes. I can’t believe it. I was there, and I can’t believe it. The tentacles?”

“A bespoke creation.”

Greg snorted. “Everybody’s got a job. Some blokes make oozing alien tentacle stumps.”

Mycroft made a noise and fiddled with the crease of a sheet.

Greg studied his face. “Sherlock? Sherlock made the hand!”

“He is an expert engineer as well as a chemist. With a flair for the dramatic that, for once, was put toward a worthy creative enterprise.”

Greg laughed. “How did you convince him to do it? No amount of money would tempt him.”

“He and Doctor Watson will be making use of our _theatre_ at a convenient time, that is to say, upon our prolonged absence. Work-related or holiday, whichever comes first. So you see, you needn’t worry about needling or judgment on my brother’s part. For the near future, there will be only envy.”

“He got a taste in Baskerville and likes it.”

“Very well, and concisely, put. The film is yours to do with as you wish. It is the only copy. If you wish to destroy it…”

Greg shook his head. “When you go on those long trips, I’ll have my own bespoke creation in the ol’ wank bank.” He stared at the screen. “The way you touch me, Mycroft. The way you bring my fantasy to life…”

“I am simply returning the favour, Gregory, for you have brought my fantasy to life as well. The idea that someone might…”

“Love, Mycroft. It’s love.”

“…without regard for what I can provide or influence for him, well, it is as rare as a walk among the stars.”

Greg leaned and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “I’m going to shower, brush my teeth, drink about a litre of water, then make sweet, sweet, very human love to second luckiest man in the world. The first would be me, of course.”

Mycroft blushed.  “Sounds like a capital plan.”

Greg moved to the edge of the bed.

“Uh, Gregory, there is one small matter that requires clarification.”

“What’s that?”

“There should not be a worm in tequila, certainly not in the brand of tequila that you were awarded. Mescal, which is a broader term for spirits of the agave plant and of which tequila is but one product, sometimes has a worm. I do not understand how an insect of that size and colour came to…”

“SHERLOCK!”

“Oh my. He was at the pub?”

“Who do you think helped me with the serial killer questions?! I am going to kill him. He put that fucking worm in the bottle!”

“Gregory…”

“I know he’s your brother, so I’m just going to tell John and let him kill Sherlock…”

“A wiser course of action, but…”

“What?”

Mycroft tapped his phone, then turned the screen.

Greg seethed. “I’m going to kill John, too! And he is an idiot for putting his little prank on Instagram!” He got to his feet and stomped toward the loo. Then he stopped and turned.

“I have a better plan.”

“Yes?”

“Revenge. Whenever Sherlock and John decide to use the cellar, a pair of not-so-nice aliens crash their little party.”

“Ooo, Gregory! You are a bad man.”

He grinned. “Hold that thought. I’m going to show you just how bad in a few minutes.” Then he turned and began to hum.

“ _Duh-duh, duh-duh-duh, duh! Tequila!_ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
